


Son of Killoren

by ArcaneAddict



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 12:06:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12770727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcaneAddict/pseuds/ArcaneAddict
Summary: Thassarian was the first human death knight to rejoin the Alliance at Stormwind. But the transition from one of the deadliest (and third) knight ever raised from death could not have been simple. This is a collection of a few short stories I've been working on about his adjustment after Light's Hope Chapel. They are not all in chronological order of occurence.





	Son of Killoren

“The true embassies of any nation are its taverns. Whether a world-weary traveler seeks comfort in a mug of ale or the local folk gather to share the gossip of the day, the animosities of the world are temporarily set aside. I find that I know the people of a town best when I’ve met them over a beer.”  
_-Chen Stormstout, A Traveler’s Almanac_

____

__The Blue Recluse occupied a specific niche in the hierarchy of Stormwind’s taverns. While certainly more respectable than The Slaughtered Lamb which tended to attract the seedier elements of the city, it did not offer the same expensive luxuries one might find at The Golden Keg. Students from the Mage Quarter did their best to destroy their brain cells on the cheap grain whiskey from Westfall while the off-duty guards stuck to beer, in case a brawl broke out. The nearby docks sent sailors there who gambled their wages in dice games while travelers took rooms for the night._ _

____

__A prominent archmage (who certainly did not have an odd proclivity for collecting crystals in large quantities) had once delivered a long and drunken lecture on his belief that The Blue Recluse sat over a strange conjugation of ley-lines buried deep in the earth beneath the city. This intersection of ley-lines, he opined, clearly helped to explain the wide cross-section of people who bellied up to the counter on any given night._ _

____

__However, ley lines or not, the quiet young man who’d taken a table underneath the stairs attracted more than a few looks from the other patrons. People crowded every other table, chair and stool in the bar in the early evening rush, but most seemed intent on ignoring the empty chair across from him._ _

____

__At a causal glance, he didn’t look much different than the town guards at the bar, dressed in their chain shirts with shining plumed helmets tucked under one arm or stowed by their feet. He sat with the same studied posture in his heavy plate armor and a mostly empty beer mug sat by his hand. However, while proud lions in gold roared on the shields of the guards, tarnished ebony skulls leered from his shoulder plates and adorned his belt. Joachim the bartender cheerfully topped off the drinks of the other patrons but the man in the corner nursed the dregs of his beer without notice._ _

____

__This didn’t seem to bother the young man whose pale blue gaze seemed fixed on studying the tabletop in front of him, as intent on ignoring everyone else as they did him. From underneath the fingers of his right hand, a delicate spider web of frost bloomed outwards in a rippling circle. The steamy heat of bodies and the hearth melted the snow almost as soon as it appeared and he began to create another with studious intention._ _

____

__A wave of cool evening air wafted into the bar as the door opened and an odd stomp-clump of footsteps made through the crowd and ended across the table from the young man. He looked up as the other patron dragged back the unoccupied chair and took a seat._ _

____

__“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice deep and sonorous as it undercut the noise of the other patrons, “I didn’t realize this table was taken. Excuse me, ma’am.”_ _

____

__He made as if to stand but the woman waved him down. She didn’t seem to notice half the tavern fell silent as they turned to stare at whoever had been traitor enough to share a table with the death knight._ _

____

__“It’s not,” she said, “Two people, two chairs, boy. Hell---“ she nodded down at the wooden leg that replaced her left leg from the knee down, “Give me half a chair and I’ll be fine.”_ _

____

__She chuckled heartily at her own joke as she leaned down and struck a match on her false leg, the guttering flame carefully guarded as she brought it up to light her pipe. She wasn’t a student, a sailor or a town guard, but something different. Salt and spice wafted from her like an expensive perfume, her dark burnished skin adorned by more than a few colorful tattoos. Her curling dark hair sported plentiful stands of grey and surrounded a cheerful, canny face that showed the wear of time and sunlight. As she puffed on her pipe, she smiled at the cautious young man eyeing her from across the table._ _

____

__“Joe,” she yelled, without turning in her chair, “You worthless son of an orc, I’ve been here an age already and I don’t have a drink in my hand. And bring a beer for my friend here too, he’s dryer than the Burning Steppes, damn it.”_ _

____

__The crowd returned to their conversations as the bartender flushed and moved to fulfill her order. Joachim brought her a glass of some colorless liquor and a foaming mug of beer that he set at a safe distance from the young man. The barkeep’s hand shook as he set it down, spilling some foam over the side before he retreated quickly to his spot behind the bar._ _

____

__“Thank you for the drink, ma’am,” the young man said politely, “I’m afraid everyone here has good reason to dislike me. I don’t mean them any harm but…I have. In the past.”_ _

____

__He took a long drink from the mug, the foam decorating his mustache for a moment before he brushed it away. The woman didn’t agree or disagree but stuck out her sinewy, knotted hand across the table._ _

____

__“No ma’am, you can call me captain,” she said briskly, “Names Kyla Sharpeye, and my little Naga’s Breath is the fastest ship in the harbor here. I come to say hello and welcome to the city. Hardly believed the news when I heard it, but I could never forget the name. Heard it a hundred bloody times from your father.”_ _

____

__The death knight’s eyes widened as he accepted the handshake, his big hand engulfing hers in a gentle, almost tentative grasp._ _

____

__“You knew…my father? Killoren of Lordaeron, you…you served with him?”_ _

____

__Kyla pulled herself forward a few inches as she maintained her grasp on his hand and plucked something off his shoulder with her other. The knight followed her hand’s movement and tensed before he realized she meant no harm._ _

____

__“Apple peel,” she said and flicked it onto the floor, “Pretty certain there’s banana on your cloak too, but that’s neither here or there. Looks like you got a royal Stormwind welcome, eh lad?”_ _

____

__She shifted back into her seat and studied him for a moment as she picked up her pipe and resumed smoking._ _

____

__“I wasn’t killed on sight,” the man said quietly, “That was welcome enough, I suppose. Highlord Fordring’s name carries weight here. Otherwise, you and I wouldn’t be talking.”_ _

____

__He stopped and looked down, the hand he rested on the table curled into a fist. Kyla’s dark eyes noted the tension in his bowed head and clenched hand but he didn’t say anything and instead waited for her to speak, on her own time. A minute smile flashed across her face that she quickly dismissed._ _

____

__“Hardly could believe the truth of it, when they told me,” she said finally, “A death knight gone…good, they said. Swearing allegiance to the king and vengeance against Arthas. But I can see it, in your face. You don’t just look like your father, Thassarian. You remind me of him, too. He was prettier, mind you, but still. I’m not surprised Killoren’s son was the first death knight anyone heard of to break away from the Lich King’s side. He was like that, too. Stubborn. Honorable. Hard to kill.”_ _

____

__Something flashed across the death knight’s face. He drained his mug and set it down as he stared across the table with a cold, unguarded gaze._ _

____

__“He died anyways,” he said flatly, “Honor and all.”_ _

____

__Anger flashed across Kyla’s face and in an instant, she was half-across the table, her hand fisted around a handful of the knight’s shirt collar._ _

____

__“Yes,” she hissed, “He died honorably, is that all you know about him? I didn’t come here to preach a sermon, you know, I came because Killoren was a good man and the only good thing I ever did in my life was because of him. So I figured I owed him, owed him to go and see what became of that little boy he bragged about so much, right up until the day he died.”_ _

____

__Thassarian’s hand shot up and closed around her wrist with bruising force._ _

____

__"Tell me."_ _

____

__It came out as a growl and his grip tightened unconsciously until Kyla used the flat of her hand to strike him hard upwards against the nose. Dark blood started to pour out as she pulled free and sat back in her chair, her anger clearing as suddenly as it appeared. She chuckled as the knight cursed and tried to stem the flow from his broken nose with a gloved hand._ _

____

__“Hell,” she said, “You really don’t know how to get along with people, do you? Tell you what, exactly?”_ _

____

__The knight frowned around the hand he held clenched around his nose to stem the flow and seemed about to speak when he saw the rapidly forming bruise on the woman’s wrist. The sparks of blood-lust in his eyes faded._ _

____

__“I-I apologize, ma’am,” he said, his voice rendered somewhat nasal from his pinched nose, “I forgot myself. Please, accept my deepest apologies. I only meant---I don’t know how my father died, not truly. He passed when I was a child and I was told a child’s truth of the story. Anyone else who might have known the real story died long ago when he did.”_ _

____

__He held out a hand across the table, palm up._ _

____

__“Allow me,” he said, “It will ease the pain.”_ _

____

__Kyla raised a dark brow but put her hand into his. The knight murmured a few words in a language she did not recognize and a cool frost linked their hands for a moment and wrapped around her wrist and up her arm. She pulled her arm back and flexed her hand experimentally._ _

____

__“Huh,” she said, “Not bad.”_ _

____

__She pulled a wadded up red handkerchief from one of her pockets and tossed it across the table at him. He wiped away the blood from his face and hands and made as if to offer it back, now neatly folded, if a bit stained._ _

____

__“Keep it,” Kyla said wryly._ _

____

__They shared silence for a moment or two before the captain sat up a bit straighter, as if she’d come to a decision. She held up a tanned brown hand to summon the bartender._ _

____

__As he made his way from around the bar, she said “We’ll need more than two beers for me to tell this story. You sure you want to hear it?”_ _

____

__Thassarian offered a crooked smile._ _

____

__“Maybe we should switch to whiskey.”_ _

____


End file.
